Her Fantasy
by ILuvSexySevvy
Summary: Hermione fantasises about what she thinks she can never have. HGSS


Disclaimer: Anything you recognise, not mine. I wish!

**HER FANTASY**

She sighs as, yet again, her thoughts are drawn to him. She is fantasising again. While she knows it is not healthy, she cannot help but wonder. Wonder what it would be like to have him love her. Wonder what it would be like to have him hold her. She speculates as to whether he would be gentle or rough. Her mind tells her it makes little difference. She wants him.

How long has she wanted him? How long has she yearned for his touch? She has lost track, but she remembers how it began. She remembers defending him to her friends. She remembers feeling sorry for him and feeling empathy for him. That was how it began and slowly, over time, it became more. It became an obsession. A fantasy.

Sometimes she tells herself it is just a passing crush. Other times she tells herself that these thoughts are her logical brain telling her to get over him because he could never want her. This is her major problem. How could he ever see her in the way she wants? She is a child. He is a man. It is simple, her brain tells her, and he will not want you. She wants him though.

Her friends would label her as crazy and would probably think her hexed, but she cannot help the way she feels. She loves everything about him. While others think him cruel, she finds herself smiling at his quick wit. Others often fail to deduce the second meaning to many of his comments. She knows that he hides himself behind his snarky comments. They are his barrier to the painful world. She knows this pain; it is the one she fights. He hides himself behind his sneer; she hides herself behind her bossiness. It is their coping mechanism.

She stretches lightly as she thinks of his voice. That voice that drips sarcasm with a deep huskiness that sends her senses soaring. Her fingers play softly across her chest and she groans as she knows that her desire must be sated.

Her legs squirm as she wills her hand to stop its journey down her body, but she knows it is inevitable. Her fingers tease the coarse, coppery hair as she delays her pleasure. Her other hand shifts languidly across her nipple and she shudders as it pebbles under her soft touch. She circles the hard flesh, flicking the nipple every once in a while and gasps with the sensations it causes.

Her other hand begins to trace invisible patterns upon her inner thighs and her skin tingles in anticipation. She can feel her juices making her slick already and she is yet to touch herself there. She cups her mound and then deftly slips her middle finger between her folds. She strokes along her slit, spreading her juices up to her nub. There she begins to concentrate and her hips begin to rotate with the sensations that it creates.

It is his finger stroking her, his hand roughly palming her breasts. She closes her eyes and she can see him, his lank, black hair framing his face as he pleasures her beyond her wildest dreams. Her mouth hangs open and soft moans escape as her pleasure builds. She moves her finger down and presses into her hot, tight depths, but it is not her finger, it is his. The finger shifts lazily in and out of her sopping cunt and the thumb flicks her nub.

She is moaning loudly now, moaning his name as he sends her further on her way. Another added finger and she is nearing her ecstasy. The fingers pump feverishly in and out and she screams his name. She hears him whisper hers and she is tipped over the edge. Shaking uncontrollably, the fingers continue pumping her cunt, riding out her orgasm.

Her eyes fly open as she comes down off her high. She withdraws her hand and looks around her room. Did she hear him? She shakes her head. No, she did not hear him. It is just her fantasy becoming more real every night. She manoeuvres herself up to the pillow and looks up at the ceiling.

She lays there, her breathing slowing to its normal pace, her melancholy enveloping her. Once again, she reminds herself that she will not put herself through this. She will not allow herself to think of him this way, not allow herself this unrealistic pleasure. Snuggling into the bedcovers, she knows it will happen again and once again, she will think of him. It will continue, until she finds a way that he can be hers.

**AN**: Well, what do you think? Originally written as a one-shot, but plot bunnies keep thumping at my laptop. So the question, do you want to see where it may lead or do I leave it here? All constructive criticism would be welcomed. Thanks.


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